


Sleeping dragon

by Elisexyz



Series: Whumptober 2019 (Black Sails) [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, Delirium, Fever, Implied Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-14 01:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: While considerably out of it, Flint mistakes Silver for Thomas. To say that Silver is curious would be an understatement.





	Sleeping dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Delirium" prompt in the Whumptober 2019 event.  
  
Set somewhere between s2 and s3, Flint and Silver are not in a relationship or anything, but Silver is already catching feelings (he's just very very oblivious to it), and so is Flint probably, so I tagged the ship anyway.

John sighs, rocking slightly back and forth on his chair, glancing at the door as if there were any chance that Dr Howell would just show up immediately, announcing that he has somehow had the few hours of sleep he needed.

Watching Flint lie in bed, sweaty with fever and not looking at all peaceful, makes John highly uncomfortable, and he’d like nothing better than for the captain to get his strength back at least enough to hold out a decent conversation. Then, John could throw in his face that ‘I fucking _told_ you so’ that he has been biting back since when the _fearsome_ Captain Flint crumbled on himself like a ton of bricks.

John gets grief, he gets anger, and he has been aiding Flint in his plot to become England’s worst nightmare – it is turning out to be a real success –, but his cooperation doesn’t cut out his tongue, and he _will_ tell him off the next time he notices that he’s pushing it too far.

(Whether Flint will listen or not, that is another matter entirely, but he is certainly not going to shut up at the first ‘Fuck off, I’m fine’.)

At least, John reflects while changing the wet cloth on Flint’s forehead – he’s burning up so badly that it’s a wonder the water isn’t evaporating –, having an excuse to sit down eases some of the pressure on his aching half-leg. One has to search for a bright spot even in dire times.

Before he can pull back, Flint’s hand shoots up, surprisingly quick for a man who looks half dead. John’s stomach shrinks rather painfully in alarm, the tight grip on his wrist almost hurting, and he’s about to complain about the poor treatment, when Flint eases his hold, clumsily clasping his fingers instead.

“Thomas?” he breathes out, barely above a whisper. John can see that his eyes keep fluttering open, although glassy and blood-shot, but he still is not sure about whether Flint is all the way _there_.

“How are you feeling?” he tries, biting back the ‘Captain’ just in time, because someone that Flint is on a first name basis with probably would not call him that – John is not too sure about why he wants to indulge him: maybe he merely thinks that if the thought of this Thomas is keeping Flint still, instead of having him fight to get up the way he likely would if he realized whom he’s speaking to, then it’s in his best interest to pretend; maybe he is only curious to see where this goes, although one could say that it is not too honourable to take advantage of the captain’s state to pry secrets out of him.

Much to John’s surprise, the hint of a smile appears on Flint’s face – a proper smile, like many would not think him capable of coming up with –, as he gets a firmer hold on his hand and clutches it close to his chest. “Better,” he sighs, before closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep, seemingly less agitated than he had previously been.

John only stares, unsure of how to behave.

He tries to gently free his hand, but Flint’s grip appears to be too solid, and, given that there is no nudging him into letting go, John elects to roll with it for the time being, even if that forces him into a slightly uncomfortable position, leaning forward on his chair.

After all, it is in his best interest not to awake the sleeping dragon.

On some level, John knows that he’d better not ask of Thomas.

Whoever this man was, he made an appearance when Flint was pretty low on the ground, and he seemed to be a comfort. It’d hardly be wise to directly ask about a moment of vulnerability.

He _knows_ that. He is also a curious fool, always more drawn to Flint than he’d like to admit, and he believes that, given the very low chances that this will result in his brutal murder, with the crew fond of him as it seems to be, the possible benefits outweigh the risks.

“May I ask you a question?” he asks, when Flint is well enough to be sitting at his desk, sorting through papers that John doesn’t even bother looking at.

Flint raises his eyes on him with a look of mild and not entirely unfriendly annoyance. “Would my answer stop you either way?”

That is a fair point.

John acknowledges him with a snort and a brief head gesture. “Right,” he says, quietly. “I was only wondering— who is Thomas?”

John might as well have dropped a bomb right in the middle of the room, from the way Flint’s shoulders tense and his head snaps up. He’s a little wide-eyed, but he soon makes sure to regain some composure.

“I’m afraid you will have to be a little more specific,” he says, tightly. John doesn’t miss the underlying threat in his voice.

Nevertheless, he has walked into this already, so he is not about to drop the subject so soon: he merely avoids mentioning that Flint obviously knows who it is that he’s talking about already.

“I’m not sure I can offer much detail,” John shrugs, his tone as casual as he can make it. “While you were— indisposed, for a moment you mistook me for a Thomas. I was merely wondering who that could be.”

This time, Flint’s only visible reaction is clenching his jaw. “He isn’t any of your business,” he eventually says, the threat even less subtle this time. “I suggest you drop the subject right now, Mr Silver.”

John promptly throws his hands up in defeat, coming up with some sort of half-hearted grin to make sure to highlight that he hasn’t been giving this nearly as much thought as he actually has.

“As you wish,” he says, easily. “I did not mean to pry.”

Flint shoots him an highly unamused look. “You absolutely did.”

John acknowledges him with a smug smile, but the subject doesn’t seem to have inspired in Flint the mood for a friendly chat.

“Don’t you have duties elsewhere?” he dismisses him, gesturing vaguely to the door.

John accepts to retreat, as of now. He _will_ find a way to get to whomever this mysterious Thomas is.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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